


The Mountains Say

by catchthatpigeon



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Reader-Insert, Skin-changer!Reader, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:25:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchthatpigeon/pseuds/catchthatpigeon
Summary: He smelled of… the earth. Like good, fertile soil, of sweat and smoke, of sweet honey and milk. You kept your eyes on him, but unpinned your ears. This man… he was not a bad man. However, you weren’t quite sure if he was a good man, either.Because beneath all the good smells; he smelled of beast.





	1. He Smelled of Beast

With a shrill yet alarmed neigh, the fear in your veins pushed you to outrun your pursuers. Various hues of greens and browns blurred past you, and in the distance you could pick up the sounds of wildlife scurrying and scattering as fast as they could. Alas, you paid little mind to the trees and sweet berry bushes, or to the frightened sounds of birds and small critters that had been slumbering moments ago. For the thundering of massive paws, the snarls of foul beasts, and the whoops and taunts of fell creatures drowned out even the rapid beating of your rabbiting heart.

The tenacious warg at your heels snapped at your hocks, and your startled and awkward leap forward had been the only thing to save you from its hungry maws. 

As your exhausted legs carried you forward, you begun to notice the thinning of trees. The strong trunks had slimmed down to poles, and the lush canopy allowed patches of light to flood into the small forest. Up ahead, a sea of gold greeted you, and in a matter of moments, you’d burst out into the light of the sun. Your sleek coat glistened in the sunlight, like precious metals deep in dwarven mines; your muscles rippled beneath your coat, like molten gold. 

You were a sight to behold; delicate and long legged, with a tail and mane as fair as the stars. You were no war horse, you had never seen a battle and you’d never watched as death united races, for the embrace of death knew no banners, no alliances, and no race. Death welcomed all, and you feared that soon it would welcome you as well. No; you did not know war. However, you knew endurance; you knew how to run and you knew how to pace yourself. As slim as the chances seemed, there was still a meager number of hope that you would outrun the wargs and their wretched masters.

Yet doubt gripped your heart, like the talons of a hawk gripped the brittle body of a hare. You could run; you could _always_ run - but where? You did not know the lands, nor did you remember the way home. You had no allies or friends in these foreign lands. 

In the distance, something peculiar caught your frightened gaze, amidst the sea of gold, a house! 

A curious noise slipped through your lips as your stretched your neck forward. The wargs, still in pursuit, snapped and snarled. Occasionally, one or two lunged forward, teeth close enough that their hot breath fanned across your skin. Despite the heat, it managed to chill you to your bones. 

Their masters hollered and shrieked, shrill and ghastly sounds that set your skin crawling. Yet, the atmosphere of the chase had changed as you crossed through the gated threshold. The thundering sounds of paws stilled, and the wargs were left barking and snapping at a safe distance. Skidding to a halt in front of the large cottage, surrounded by majestic trees and adorned with patches of wild flowers, vegetables, and ripened berries, you turned to face your pursuers. You paced, their behavior unnerving you. Despite the vicious behavior of the wargs, their tuckered tails and pinned ears, and the nervous chittering of the orcs that rode them, put you off. They were afraid, but not of you.

Your neck stiffened as your pinned ears picked up groaning; like wood bowing beneath something massive. The wargs’ baying had been reduced to a nervous growl as their heads lowered and bodies dropped closer to the ground. You fidgeted as your body prepared to flee. Something was going to happen, and every part of you knew it.

With an all too deafening _crack_ the double doors to the cottage broke as something barreled out with a terrifying roar. Splinters flew, and with a cry you shot off like an arrow from a taut bow. You’d managed to barely get out of the raging beast’s path as it charged at the wargs, paws swinging, grunts and bellows rattling the air and everything around you. 

The wargs scattered, like spooked birds, ducking and dodging each swipe of the massive paws that were tipped with equally massive claws. Several of the orcs went to attack, while the rest remained a safe distance away, anxious and unsure of the present situation. Behind the massive, black beast, you paced and fidgeted at the sounds and sight of battle.

Then, the coppery scent of blood, and then the sounds of orcs and wargs scampering off. It appeared that whatever monstrosity that had barged out of the house was not worth the fight, and you were left alone with it. It huffed and puffed, snorted and bellowed once more; very much warning them to stay off its land. With a final snort, the beast wheeled itself around to face you. You visibly flinched before stumbling back. Subconsciously your teeth gnashed together and you found yourself fidgeting once more. 

You nickered, the sound soft and subdued. The beast, bigger than a warg and twice as bulky, puffed in your direction. Its head was massive, and from what you had seen and could still see, it had a maw big and strong enough to crush your head. And if not, then certainly a swipe of a paw would surely be enough. Yet, the beast did not come for you, instead, it lumbered off into the house, as if having lost interest in you.

You had been left outside, more bewildered than anxious, yet still far too terrified to move. The strong smell of blood still lingered in the air, but as the fear seemed to trickle down your legs and disappear into the ground, you found yourself scenting the air. It smelled of honeysuckles, and ripened tomatoes. In the distance, bumblebees bustled about; and upon further inspection, it dawned to you that the bees, while gentle, were of… unusual size. Taking a curious step toward the closest bumble, you failed to notice the figure approaching until a sharp _snap_ shocked you out of your reverie. 

Within seconds you spooked and stumbled as something tall shot out in front of you. It appeared human, for two hands were thrust out towards you as you reared. For a moment you’d thought it to be the beast from earlier, but you soon realized that it was just an incredibly hair man, with dark, bushy brows and a wild beard. He spoke softly despite the roughness of his voice, yet he made no attempts at grabbing you.

Eventually, you stilled. With stiff legs, you took a step backwards before halting as your back legs met something prickly. It wasn’t painful per se, but you preferred to not get tangled in anything. 

The man dropped one of his hands, yet kept the other one stretched towards you. You watched him with uncertainly before craning your neck towards him to smell the offered hand. He smelled of… the earth. Like good, fertile soil, of sweat and smoke, of sweet honey and milk... You kept your eyes on him, but unpinned your ears. This man… he was not a bad man. However, you weren’t quite sure if he was a good man, either.

Because beneath all the good smells; _he smelled of beast._


	2. He Let You Stay

After your initial introduction, the hulking man bothered you no more. Rather, he’d busied himself with his broken door, collecting the splinters and whatever else could be salvaged or reused. You’d watched him with careful eyes for a while before deeming that he would not attack you. Occasionally he would grunt and grumble to himself, but he said very little to you. And so, you began your exploration of the man-beast’s home. 

At first smell you could tell that there were other animals on the land, for the yard was like a crisscrossing map of stale scents. You could pick out the scent of ponies, of goats, and cows. The air smelled heavily of dogs, as well. It wasn’t long after you’d taken one step forward to further examine the green grass, that two massive, long legged dogs came barking and barreling out of the house. With an alarmed sound, you spooked just as the man turned to growl and bark at his dogs. Literally. 

The odd sounds caused you to pause and survey the situation. At the first bark from the man, the two dogs, various shades of gray, wiry hair, came to a halt before trotting back over to their master. The barking and growling went on for some time, and when the man had stopped, the dogs did not approach you. Instead, they panted in the shade cast by the house after romping about the yard, and cast interested glances your way. Once you were certain that they indeed would not come after you, you turned to inspect the blackberry bush that you’d nearly gotten tangled in.

The silence between you and the man-beast was long, but by no means uncomfortable. While you busied yourself with grazing and making tentative friends with his goats, he milled about his farm, fixing things and tending to his garden and his animals. And when the sun had begun its descent behind the horizon and set the sky aflame, he settled down by his stoop with carving tools and an unfinished project. 

However, the silence between the two of you came to an end when he set the bench gouge down.

“I know what you are, mare.” The statement alone was enough to cause you to raise your head and regard your tolerant host with a calculating and considerate look. “You move and look like a horse, but there is a different kind of intelligence in your eyes. Why were they after you?”

Your ear flicked once as you eyed the man-beast. An odd look crossed your face, and with one step, took a bold leap of faith.

Seldom did your herd reveal their human sides to man, lest you were trading with the few Harad tribes that did not attempt to wrangle your kin into ropes. Alas, those days were numbered, and the good Harad tribes grew too few with each passing day. For something dark loomed over the golden lands of your home, and allies were becoming sparse. However, the figure sitting hunched before you was no man of the Harad, nor was he a foul beast of the fell.

Your transformation had been smooth and graceful, much like your mother’s gallop across the golden dunes of your home. Yet your first step as a woman was as shaky as the legs of a newborn foal. Your arms, delicate and smooth, fanned out to the sides to steady yourself, and your hair tumbled over and down your shoulders in waves. Parting your lips to speak, you suddenly paused as a violent shiver rattled your frame. 

“I-...” your voice scratched at your throat painfully, and you took several moments to clear it. “I am l-... looking for solace.” The tongue of the northmen felt foreign to your tongue as you struggled to frame your lips around the Westron words.

There was a slight groan from the man-beast as he rose to his feet. Ignoring the alarmed expression that struck your face, he turned to the door and glanced over his shoulder.

“Come,” he grunted. “The nights are cold and unforgiving. Tell me your story, mare, and I shall decide if you have a place in my home.” He shifted his large frame to the side enough to allow you to enter his cottage, and with each uncertain step, the structure seemed larger and large. But then again, the master of the house was intimidatingly tall, with broad shoulders. Your own delicate figure felt brittle and small next to his.

As you stepped into his abode, with your host close behind you, you couldn’t help but to stop and marvel the sight before you. The ceiling was high, with strong wooden beams holding the roof up. The walls were made of the same pale colored wood, with simple yet elegant patterns carved into the surface with great care. The floor was made of pale rock, and despite the light coat of dust, it was smooth beneath your bare feet. Directly across from the door on the other side of the room, there was a fireplace set in a wall of stone. Between the entry way and said fireplace, there was a massive wooden table with benches on each side. 

There were several wooden chairs, with more carved patterns and animal heads, and worn, folded blankets strewn about. Upon the walls hung baskets filled with grain and vegetables, and hanging down from the horizontal beams were clusters of various herbs, most likely hung up to dry. As your gaze turned upward, you took note of the hanging platters with honeycombs of various sizes. The several tables placed tastefully throughout the room held more trinkets: bowls, jars, the occasional leatherbound book. 

Off to the side you spied an entryway to yet another room. You knew not what was in there, but you could smell the muddled scents of livestock, and even caught the sound of a faint bleat. A lamb, perhaps? Subconsciously you tilted your head to the side as you fixated on the sound, only to be jostled out of it as the two massive hounds you had seen earlier came barreling into the house, both eagerly snuffling and nosing your hands and legs as their long, whip like tails rapidly wagged from side to side. 

With a cry of alarm, you jerked away from the hound to your left, only to bump into the canine to your right. Your gaze shifted to their master, who barked at the dogs several times. At the first two barks, the dogs stopped, and at the third one they trotted over to their master. The man-beast barked at them a few more times, before both dogs rose to stand on their hind legs and hobbled over to set the table. 

You watched the peculiar sight with wide eyes, feeling both anxious and amazed as one by one the dogs hopped over to the table with bowls between their paws. You were once again snapped out of your thoughts when the man-beast passed you a neatly folded quilt. As you accepted the offered blanket, you could tell that once upon a time it had been coarse, and that after years of use, the thread had been worn down to something soft. Unfolding the quilt, you draped it over your shoulders and pulled it together at the front.

The modesty of men still remained a foreign concept to you, for your herd cared little for layers of clothing. It was rare that your kind tottered about on two legs when the sun was at its highest, for the sleek coats of your equine forms protected you from the sun better than the soft skin of man. When your herd mates did opt to wander about in human skin, some wore long and simple strips of colorful, sun-bleached fabrics to protect themselves from the wind and sand. Should the day have been windless, most opted to wear nothing at all.

There was a soft groan from the man-beast as he eased himself into a wooden armchair with impressive heads akin to the beast that had more or less saved your life earlier that day. He inclined you to sit with a grunt and a jerk of his chin towards the bench, and you found yourself quick to obey.

“Speak.”

And spoke you did.

The words you seeked out eluded you, and when you were able to recall the correct terms, you struggled to form your mouth around them. You told him of the vast stretch of sandy dunes, and the secret oasis that your herd called ‘home.’ In your tale, you spoke of your mother, who was similar in color to you, and of your father, a massive black stallion that thundered across the land. He was without mercy to those who challenged him, yet kind to those under his care. Power rippled beneath his skin, and an air befitting of a king clung fiercely to him. 

You told him of the Haradrim; both of them men that your herd traded with, and of those with dark, corrupt hearts. As your story went on, the fondness drained from your tone as you recounted the tale of your enslavement. You remembered very little of the raid, save for too much fire, the yells of men, and the screams of your father and family. There had been ropes too; several looped tightly around your neck, one around your throat to control your head, and another biting into one of your pasterns. You remembered blacking out, but the Haradrim had been quick to bring you out of unconsciousness. Blood and smoke hung heavy in the air, and you recognized the corpses of several of your herd mates, including your mother. However, several were missing, and those who had not managed to escape, had been in ropes. There had been little time to mourn.

The men moved the remainder of your herd, some died while being broken, refusing to be ridden, while some were traded for goods. Fearful for your life, you opted to comply. The relationship between your rider and yourself had been rocky at first, and barely functional at best. His weight was unfamiliar, and his heels dug into your side almost painfully. The tugging on the make shift reigns and his commands were often confusing, mixed even, and the rough rope fastened into a halter had been unforgiving on your face. 

In the midst of your retelling, the man-beast had stood to light and kindle a flame in the fireplace. As he moved, the soft _clink_ of the chains around his wrists did not escape your notice. You wondered about them, but dared not to ask. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you gave your rather unused throat a brief moment of rest while he fed the fire. When the crackling of the flames filled the silence, you continued.

It wasn’t until another tribe had attacked the one that had taken you that you managed to escape. Your rider had been quick to mount you, fist wrapped tightly into your mane as he hauled himself onto your back. With his weapon drawn, his heels jabbed your sides once. He clicked his tongue several times, egging you on towards the worst of the fight. However, neither one of you had expected the enemy warrior to skid in front of you. So, you had reared, front hooves kicking as a forceful gush of air had been expelled through your nose. In your spooked state you’d managed to both throw off your startled rider, and strike the Haradrim in front of you. When you had brought your front legs and head down, you had pushed yourself forward, towards the fight.

Upon realizing the lack of your rider’s weight, the incessant tugging at your mane, and kicking of your sides, you veered off to the outskirts of the raid and massacre, and vanished into the night.

After your escape you’d wandered aimlessly, transforming only once to remove the makeshift halter before returning to your favored form. You had attempted to use the stars as your guide, but the ever shifting mountains of sand lowered your confidence down to nothing. Water was rare and few, and patches of green had been almost nonexistent.

However, in your state of weakness, salvation had come in the form of an old mumakil. The bull, old and battle worn, with crisscrossing scars had regarded you with pitying eyes. He too, had been taken from his home in the Far Harad, yet the years had not been kind to him, and the Haradrim that had taken him even less. You’d asked him of your home, of your father, but the bull had informed you that he’d seen too many oases and horses in life long lifetime. 

Thankfully, the bull had offered you a ride, and you found yourself clinging to one of his many majestic tusks. Two of his tusks had been broken, and when you asked about them, he had informed you that he’d broken them during a fight with a much younger bull. The bull explained to you that he was too old to have been of any use to the Haradrim aside from fodder to the men and their dogs, and were he ever able to return to Far Harad, too old to be accepted into a herd. Thus, he’d been wandering the deserts of Harondor.

The two of you traveled for some time, though you were quickly separated when the bull caught sound of raiders in the distance. You’d been encouraged to leave without him, and to head north to the Harad Road. The bull’s parting words to you had been that the road would lead you to greener lands. With nowhere to go, you followed the wise bull’s suggestion and galloped north and east. 

It wasn’t until you’d crossed your first river that you truly noticed the lack of sand. The sky was was grey, and the golden mountains of sand of Haradwaith had been replaced with dark mountains with white caps. The land was hard with soil and blessed with fertility. The further north you ventured, the more you took note of the chill and then eventually the biting cold. It wasn’t until late into winter that you grew a proper coat to protect you from the elements. Many men dressed in humble garments and living in humble homes expressed interest in you, though you were quick to avoid being captured. 

As you traveled even further north, the scenery appeared less grey and more green, even with the mountains looming in the distance. During your travels, you’d met many curious beasts. Some gave you a wide berth, as you approached them - perhaps being able to tell that there was something off about you, while some, more predatory, came after you with jaws snapping. It was in the land of golden fields where men rode upon horses that you had encountered your first horde of orcs. The men on horseback had been insistent in catching you, but they’d been intercepted by the orcs. During the battle, you managed to slip off with only a stray warg baying and snapping its teeth at your heels. 

“I do not know the lands and I do not want to be caught,” you croaked, throat dry and raw from use. Your host, silent, poured you what seemed like warm milk into a tankard far too big for you to hold with one hand. “Sometimes I am safe, and sometimes the fell creatures and their foul mounts chase me.”

Cradling the wooden mug between your hands, you stared off into the fire, unable to bring yourself to face your host. He offered you no sympathy, nor did he try and speak words of comfort. Instead, he remained seated, unmoving. You eventually risked a glance his way, and he appeared almost contemplative. Your gaze drifted back to your drink.

“What is your name, mare?” The question was quiet, but the gruffness of his tone managed to drag your out of your musings. You turned to look at him once more, a rather surprised look upon your face. Your name? You blinked slowly before parting your lips, however closed it after a moment. 

“I… “ you begun before shame crossed your face. “It has been too long. I fear I do not know it anymore.” Your eyes dropped down. He hummed, and you weren’t quite sure if the sound was noncommittal or thoughtful.

“But I do not mind if you call me ‘mare.’” 

Yet another silence settled between the two of you, and the only thing that kept it from unnerving you was the soft snoring of his dogs and the gentle crackling of the fireplace. It wasn’t until you finished the remainder of your milk that your host gave you his name.

_He was not a bad man, but he was not a good man either. He smelled like nice things and he smelled of beast; and he spoke Westron and barked at his dogs._

_His name was Beorn, and he decided to let you stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite sure, but suddenly I had the urge to write something! So, I figured why not update this fanfiction (rather than starting a new one, hahah).
> 
> I'm not going to lie, starting this chapter was a little hard but once I got to the reader's back story it was a whole lot easier. Unfortunately there's not a whole lot on Haradwaith, which sucks because I'd love to read up more on them. Alas, I'm forced to go off super vague descriptions. Worse case scenario I take some creative liberty. I'm not very certain about the ending of this chapter - I honestly feel like I could have done a better job at it, but this chapter's 200 words short from being over 3,000 words long. I just got to the point where I was like "I should end this."
> 
> If you're wondering why the reader wasn't like "oh, my name's [Your Name]," I thought it'd be interesting if she didn't remember her name, considering how much time she's spent as a horse and how long she's been by herself. But don't worry, she'll remember her name eventually, I can promise you that much. For now, think of 'mare' as a title (like in Skyrim how you have the "Dragonborn" but no one ever really says the name that the player assigned them) or a nickname, even.
> 
> For those who aren't familiar with the term 'mumakil,' they're the giant elephants with six tusks that make an appearance in the third Lord of the Rings movie and I think the second one as well. The hobbits named them "oliphaunts." However, the reason why I opted to use the term "mumakil" is because that's the name that's used in Haradwaith, which is where the reader is from (more specifically, she's from the Near Harad region). And Haradwaith is just another name for Harad. "Harad-" in Sindarin means "south," while "-gwaith" means "people." The people in the Harad region are called "Haradrim" which means "Southern-host." The hobbits call Haradwaith/Harad the "Sunlands" because it tends to be much sunnier and warmer there. 
> 
> Near Harad is very desert like, where as Far Harad, while also desert like, had a lot of jungles. To the west where you have the coastline is Umbar, which is the city where corrupted Numenoreans called the Corsairs (they're basically pirates) live. If you've seen the extended edition clip for the third Lord of the Rings movie, the scene where Aragorn hijacks the black ships with the help of the Legolas, Gimli, and the Army of the Dead (in the books, the Grey Company was there to help too), those ships and the men that were supposed to be in it, were the Corsairs of Umbar. I don't know, my memory is a bit spotty.
> 
> Okay, now I'm just rambling. ANYWAYS - I'd like to offer a huge 'thank you' to anyone who has left kudos and/or commented. I'd also like to just make a huge shout out to my two beta readers: noctecaelum, who always manages to catch my typos, and ciarbane (heathenminded), who helps me out with all the equine stuff. You guys are the absolute best! 
> 
> Like always, I'd absolutely love it if you guys left me some feedback, or even suggestions or dare I say requests? It's a slow build after all, so I'm going to need to throw in some things to help their relationship develop and all that fun stuff. I don't know-- what do you guys want to see potentially happening? I might use your ideas, or I might not ( u w u)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was beta-read by the lovely noctecaelum; thank you so much, love; you're the bees knees!
> 
> I really don't know where I'm going with this-- it might just be pure fluff or not. It's really going to depend on how I see the relationship between Beorn and Reader developing and all that snazzy stuff. Unlike my other story, The Crown, I don't intend this one to be a drabble series. I'm hoping to be able to post long chapters, but it's been a while since I've written anything close to ~2,000 words per chapter. So, my goal is to build up to that while still producing quality work. Umm, I will be adding tags as I go along.
> 
> For this story I'm choosing to blend both the book Beorn and the movie Beorn into one, just to give myself more material to work with. As for the title, it was inspired by the song "Mountains" by Message to Bears! Well, actually it's a snippet from the lyrics, hahah.
> 
> To clear up any confusion, yes, the reader is a skin-changer that takes the form of a horse. And yes, she's not native to the area. I'll explain more of her story in the future chapters, though if you're curios as to what her body type is/breed is, please look up Akhal Teke's on Google Images. I wanted something pretty and delicate because Beorn isn't necessarily "pretty" and he's far from delicate for sure!
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and if you have any questions, suggestions, or comments, please feel free to leave me a comment :-)


End file.
